


watch over us

by fitzefitcher



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Body Horror, Canon Disabled Character, Canon Temporary Character Death, Canon-Typical Violence, Domestic, Gabriel Reyes is an Eldritch Horror, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Male-Female Friendship, Overwatch Team as Family, Panic Attacks, grocery trips gone wrong, lots of fun shenanigans to be had, shenanigans such as: being interrupted mid-blowjob
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-18
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-07-24 17:34:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7517182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fitzefitcher/pseuds/fitzefitcher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Overwatch drabbles based on prompts I recieve both here and on tumblr. Tags will be added as needed. Got a request? put it in the comments section.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Reaper76: Tracer has terrible timing

**Author's Note:**

> from tumblr, @dawowbearfeminist: "Honestly i find it awkward to pitch ideas to people who's taste i dont know so i'll just throw this out there. I've always liked the idea of the overwatch team finding about Reyes/morrison due to Tracer bursting into Jack's room to show him a funny vine while they are "in the middle of things" and after an awkward pause her hand ont he door, jack blushing, and Gab stunned she straight up just reverse times herself to escape the situation. Maybe you can think of other fun scenarios."
> 
> Set pre-fall of overwatch.

Here’s the thing: neither of them are very subtle.

Or at least, neither of them believes themselves or the other to be that subtle (you’d think the loud, weirdly sexually charged arguments wherein they get about half an inch from each others’ faces they have on the daily would be obvious), but apparently, what it takes for people to realize that they’re together, is Tracer walking in on them. Not them occasionally holding hands or always sitting next to each other (damn near right on top of each other, if they were being honest), no- it’s Tracer zipping into Jack’s quarters about halfway through a blowjob.

“Jack, come look at this-” she starts, bursting through the door and phone clutched in her hand, and gets maybe a quarter of the way through of what she wanted to say before taking in the scene before her- Jack on his knees, Gabe with pants pulled down barely enough and fingers tangled in Jack’s hair- and she just. Recalls away. Jack doesn’t even get to finish saying “don’t come in,” head twisting around like he’s fucking possessed and face flushed beet red.

“Did she really just,” Gabe trails off. “YOU COULD AT LEAST CLOSE THE DOOR,” he calls out to the hallway. Jack looks like his eyes are gonna bug out of his fucking head.

There’s a faint “Sorry!” Before a blue blur zips back, and the door slams shut.

“So what do you think- noon? By noon everyone will know?” Gabe asks sarcastically. Jack just gives him an exasperated stare.

“I really need to fix the lock on that door,” he says ruefully, head in his hands.

“Yeah, you do,” Gabe pointedly agrees.


	2. Hanzo & Lucio: Hanzo has a panic attack and Lucio is a huge sweetheart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> from tumblr @readasaur: "someone who is suffering from a lot of unresolved issues (widowmaker, roadhog, Hanzo or anyone, really) is tense and jumpy, so Lucio sings to help them calm down."
> 
> here is the song Lucio sings :)  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dV1XpP0E1E0

The kitchen is a blessed silence.

Hanzo quietly shuts the door behind him, hands trembling, trying to keep himself together and breathe while the manic energy gripping his heart and lungs slowly bleeds out of his system.

He’s getting better.

He’s not great, still, it’s going to take him a while before he’s anywhere near, that, but he’s. Getting better, at least, with being around other people again after years of his self-imposed exile. He’s a little jumpy still, and paranoid, and seeing his brother around every corner doesn’t really help this either. It’s somehow still a shock every time he sees him, choking down the knee-jerk instinct to strike down the machine that has stolen his brother’s voice to come and haunt him for past sins.

Everyone’s doing they’re best to be friendly and welcoming, but sometimes, through no fault of his new teammates, everything seems to grate on him, feeling hen-pecked and cornered. It’s just, noise, and people, and it’s just too much for him sometimes. He’d already been a little on edge that day, sleep disturbed with his guilt-ridden dreams’ usual fanfare, and when he enters the main area and sees Genji, maskless (the number of times he has seen this he can count on one hand, still), laughing with some of the younger ones as they’re all good-naturedly squabbling over a game Hana brought for them to play. Hanzo can’t really appreciate the domesticity of the scene because he just locks onto the scars on what was left of Genji’s skin, scars that he put there himself, and all he can see is blood, both there and dripping off of his blade, lurking just behind his eyelids whenever he blinks. Then suddenly everything is bright and loud and he has to leave before Genji notices he’s here, guilt and anxiety creating a volatile cocktail. It’s no one’s fault except his own insecurities and he knows it, knows he’s being completely irrational, but that doesn’t impede him any from immediately fleeing to the closest empty room, the kitchen as it so happened.

He’s only by himself a few minutes, standing at the counter with limbs locked in place, noise but for the faint hum of the ancient fridge as the freezer kicks on. He can hear footsteps as someone quietly walks in, bare feet padding softly across the tile, but he doesn’t turn his head- can’t, more like. They’re humming, so probably Lucio, then, who proceeds to walk around him to the fridge on his other side, rummaging through it. He can still faintly hear Hana and Genji roughhousing from down the hall- from the sound of it, Lena has joined in. (That was something of a roadblock to get past, everyone telling him their first names and expecting him to call them by that instead of their surnames, doing the same to him as well; it’s a little too intimate, a little too trusting, but sometimes it’s nice to hear him call him by Hanzo instead of bearing the weight of his clan’s name. It’s refreshing.)

“Since they’re a little preoccupied, I’m gonna start dinner,” Lucio tells him gently, laughly. “Got any requests?”  
“No,” he replies, managing to wrench the word out of is closed-off throat. Lucio hums in response, and doesn’t question his white-knuckled deathgrip on the kitchen counter or ask him to move, just setting up next to him instead as he prepares dinner. He pulls someting out of his pocket, one of his pieces of music equipment, no doubt, and flicks through the various menu screens before choosing something and sticking it on the counter, carefully out of the way.

It’s - it’s not really anything he expected of Lucio, in all honesty. It’s slower than he usually prefers, starting with a wispy-sounding alto coupled with a bass. It’s not anything he’s ever heard of, but it’s peaceful, so it’s welcome. Lucio starts singing along, softly at first, but slowly growing louder, hitting his peak at the high point of the song. The lyrics hit a little harder to home than he really wants, but it’s not. Unpleasant.

He starts helping with dinner, and isn’t quite so bothered by the noise that follows when Genji and the others start piling into the kitchen to help, too.


	3. Reaper76: Gabriel Reyes is dead and not-dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> from tumblr, @sovietdoctor: "How would soldier 76 find out Reaper is Reyes / react to realization that Reyes has survived the blast."

Gabriel Reyes did not survive the blast.

It’s about 2 or 3 years in that he figures it out, when he sees him face to face, but he actually encounters Reaper much earlier than that.

Less than a year in, he’s hearing bits and pieces of strange bodies found withered and twisted into strange greyed out shapes, hearing something about strange creatures made of smoke, and he doesn’t really want to believe such a thing, that somewhere there’s an actual literal wraith, but he’s seen too much shit, done too much shit, to just brush it aside as fake.

Slightly past a year and a half or so, he’s proven right, with more sightings, more evidence, more strange things that can’t quite be explained, and at this point, he’s seen some of the victims- the remains of them, anyway- in person. He and Reaper have closer agendas than he’d like to think, and he gets to the same old Overwatch base Reaper had set his sights on just hours after he had left. He sees the bodies of the guards, shrunken in their skins and looking like the worst part of a famine, and feels sick to his stomach.

This does not, however, stop him from what he needs to do, a morbid, cold practicality pressing him to comb over the base anyway, especially now with no guards and limited security. Reaper is looking for the same shit that he is, apparently, or at least along the same lines, and a numbing dread starts churning in his gut.

They keep just missing each other, hitting the same places closer and closer together, within days and then hours, and clues start coming together in Jack’s head whether he wants them to or not. They’re following the same trail, and they appeared around the same time (though he’s been doing a better job of staying under the radar, admittedly, but then he leaves behind no corpses, does he, and it’s harder to hide a body count than it is to hide a break-in). He catches the Reaper once, in a vault, lurking far away enough to be undetected.

The security guard caught in Reaper’s claws shrinks and withers before his eyes, and he honestly wasn’t expecting a human shape, hearing descriptions of black smoke and great birds of prey. Though that’s still not too far off, to be honest, the dark, billowing coat casting a great shadow stretching across the floor. It’s thanks to the visor that he can see him, recently stolen from a previous hit, Jack on a catwalk another story up, blocked off from the Reaper’s vision by the struts networked across the ceiling. But the visor allows him to see the once-human crumple under Reaper’s hands in disturbingly high detail, without being too close. That being said, he still remains quiet, going still and waiting.

The Reaper doesn’t linger too long; they drops the remains of the guard and peer around quickly. They start to go translucent and smoky, of all things, and before Jack really can process it, has drifted away in a dark fog.

Jack waits for a long time before coming down from the catwalk, much longer than he’d like to admit. There’s no harm in being overly cautious when he’s dealing with a fucking wraith, he figures.

He pokes around the mess they left behind, wondering what the fuck they could’ve wanted here. There’s a clatter by his foot as he brushes against something, nearly giving himself a fucking heart attack, but before he can get mad at himself for something so small, he notices something about the apparent gun he bumped into.

The gun is eerily similar, as if it had been lifted directly from his memory, to Gabe- Reyes’ guns.

Jack goes to pick it up, and the gun dissolves in his hands, turning to a hissing black smoke the minute he tries to pick it up.

Jack bolts then and there, not bothering to rummage through the mess. He can’t be here anymore. He can’t. He doesn’t want to think about it. So Jack runs. Jack runs until he can’t think anymore.

He doesn’t stop until he reaches the safety of the hollowed out, abandoned warehouse he’s been holing up in as of late. He doesn’t eat or sleep for days. He can’t.

Despite this, he clings to the idea that it’s not Gabriel Reyes’ rotting corpse wrapped in black smoke and black leather, somehow, because he knows Reyes is dead. He knows. He watched.

He knows that this is flawed logic given that Gabriel (Reyes, he reminds himself) probably watched him die, too, and obviously that didn’t stick.

(Reyes, because the last time he had called him Gabriel had earned him a snarl and the cold shoulder; he told Jack not to call him that anymore and Jack swallowed down the biting anger in his throat and the hurt that welled up hot and watery behind his eyes.)

(He hadn’t thought things were that bad, at the time. Apparently, they were.)

His encounters with the Reaper continue to circle closer and closer to an actual confrontation, though he does everything in his power to avoid it. Frankly, he just doesn’t know how to fucking fight this thing, and he doesn’t need it to know how often or close they come to meeting face to face.

He can’t get it out of his head that it’s Reyes, somehow, and every little thing that it- they- do is yet another sign that it is. It’s an odd thing, caught between wanting it to be Reyes, desperation running hot up his spine, and wishing desperately that it wasn’t, going cold at the thought of him being stuck in this wretched half-existence.

He can’t stop doing what he’s doing, however- he needs to know what happened. For his sake. For Overwatch’s sake. For what it used to be, anyway.

The next he sees the Reaper, he watched yet another security guard, yet another person about to die for doing their fucking job, nail them in the head with a direct shot. The Reaper staggers, head going smoky, but the most that happens is that the mask flips off their head, and Jack sees the face of Gabriel Reyes underneath.

Jack sees red and black smoke, sharp teeth and too many eyes.

Gabriel Reyes did not survive the blast. And honestly, neither did Jack Morrison.


	4. Winston & Tracer: Moon Base Horizon responds to Winston's Drones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> from tumblr, @readasaur: "Winston is preparing to head back to the moon and face the other gorillas, for reasons. Besides Tracer, who volunteers to go with him?"
> 
> Oh fuck I forgot part of the prompt when I was writing this

The bottom line is, if he doesn’t go to see them, they are absolutely going to die.

They don’t have enough supplies to last them too much longer, and with them cut off like this, they’re not going to get them any time soon. Sure, the scientists, when they were still alive, had planned ahead, and had enough supplies to last them a while, but that had been with the thought that they would eventually become self-sufficient, with still receiving supplies when needed.

He’d been trying to make peace with them off and on for a while; sending up little drones like olive-branched doves, only for them to be shot down, one by one. Not this one, though. This one comes back. This ones tells him, ‘come back. We want to talk.’

He thinks this is less wanting actual peace and more being faced with their own mortality. He doubts any friends he had made up there have forgiven him for running.

He was planning to go up by himself originally, but in the days leading up to it, he can’t really hide the way he moves like he’s being chased, eyes shifting uneasily. It’s not like him, his comrades know it’s not like him, bu none of them can really pin him down and ask him what’s wrong. None except Tracer, that is.

Tracer catches him halfway into repairing the same makeshift rocket he used to land on Earth in the first place.

“I can’t believe we still have this!” she says, in the only way she can. That is to say, she half-shouts it while his head is up in the delicate innards of the engine, and scares the shit out of him. He bashes his head, thankfully not breaking anything, and Tracer is treated to his angry snarling as he untwists himself from the machine.

“Oops,” she apologizes with a guilty half-grin. “Where did you even find this, Winston?”

“It was in storage,” he grumbles. “The soldier found it.” Neither of them addresses why Soldier: 76 knew exactly where it was when it was stored in one of the facilities under the old strike commander’s name- Morrison had insisted it be kept, the sentimental old bastard, and that’s not really an issue they can address, currently.

(Neither was the odd sort of understanding the vigilante had for this when he took Winston and asked why he was slinking around. Just nodded when he told him why.

“Peace is a noble goal,” the soldier tells him wistfully. “Good luck- You’re going to need it.” He puts his hand on Winston’s soldier, and it feels just shy of familiar, not quite there and not quite comfortable enough to really be reassuring.

He ruffles his hair, too. That one helps, somehow. Familiar enough to feel it in his gut. The soldier finds the ramshackle heap of junk that used to be the rocket soon after. He says he was looking for something else.)

“So why you fixing it up then, Winston?” Tracer asks, slightly too casual for it to be unintentional. Winston pauses.

“I saw that the drone came back,” she mentions. She tries for off-handed but it doesn’t quite work. “You alright, love?”

“…I don’t know,” he replies. “I just want this to work. I don’t know if I can make it work.”

“Oh I’m sure you can fix it- you can fix anything,” Tracer assures him.

“No I mean,” he starts. “I don’t know if they’ll listen to me.”

“Oh you mean- oh. Oh,” Tracer replies, putting it together abruptly. She waits for him to untangle himself further, wheeling out from under the rocket, and sits down next to him.

“I’m sure they’ll listen to you, love; they wouldn’t have replied otherwise,” she says, trying to keep her smile cheery.

“They don’t really have a choice at this point,” he says grimly. Tracer’s smile wilts somewhat. “They haven’t really forgiven me at all. I can’t blame them, either.” Her face scrunches up a little at his self-derision.

“You don’t know that,” she says. “Maybe this is them trying.”

“I can’t really blame them for not wanting to,” he replies, shrugging. “After the um. Rebellion,” he decides, swallowing, “I couldn’t stay there anymore; I had to leave all of my friends behind.”  
“I thought we were friends, anyway; maybe they didn’t feel the same way. Being on the other side of a rebellion sort of… Puts things in perspective, I guess.” Tracer doesn’t really have anything to say to this, and it shows, wincing as she struggles to come up with something. This is the first time in all their years of knowing each other that he’s told her anything about this. In detail, anyway.

“I was the only one the scientists treated with any sort of respect, and it was only because of Har- the scientist who took care of me,” he says, finally. “The others were just as capable, just as intelligent, and they still just… treated them like animals.”

“You’re still allowed to be upset that yours died,” Tracer says after a moment. “You’re allowed to mourn your dad.” She’s trying to smile, still, for him, but her eyes are looking bright and wet, and her ears are reddening quickly. It’s still exactly what he needed to hear, all the same, the guilt that had pooling in his belly finally flooded out with relief and mourning. He remembers, distantly, that Tracer only cries when someone else cries first. Which means that he’s probably been tearing up for a while now. Oh.

“That doesn’t make what they did them alright,” he replies, voice cracking.

“I know,” she says. “But that doesn’t make your hurt lesser.” She wraps her arm around his shoulders, or attempts to anyway; he is massive compared to her, after all.

“If you want, love, I can come with you,” she offers. “Going up there by yourself’s gotta be scary.”

“I don’t know if they’ll like you being there,” he admits. “They might see it as an insult.”

“Well we can also show ‘em what you’ve done for me,” she says, tapping the device strapped to her chest. “Show ‘em the sort of tech they’ll have access to if they play nice. You know, besides the whole, 'you’ll die alone in space of you don’t’ thing.”

“That’s… Not a bad idea, actually,” he allows, chuckling darkly. “We could give it a try.”

Tracer grins.


	5. Mercy & Widowmaker: An Awkward Ride Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> from tumblr, @readasaur: "An Emp shorts out most of the Overwatch heroes electronic limbs. Who is the least effected and what do they do?"

“How about we call it a draw,” Mercy offers peaceably, as much as she can anyway with a grumbling old soldier draped across her shoulders. Soldier: 76, or Jack at this point, since everyone has to know now, is missing half his visor, his one good eye not looking too good right now. The bruise from when Reaper punched him (and consequently, broke the visor) is starting to swell up a bit, and he managed to be lucky enough to not choose the side that had the bad eye. He’s also bleeding from his side pretty badly, but that’s a drop in the bucket right now.

Symmetra’s arm shorted out which completely negated her ability to fight, and Pharah’s suit and ergo, her legs, are pretty much fucked. McCree’s clutching the twitching mess of his left arm, trying to keep more pieces of it from coming off. Both their injuries are from Roadhog’s hook, though Roadhog’s not looking too good, himself.

Long story short, Talon decided it would be a good idea to equip their agents with an EMP emitter, which theoretically would have been good if not for the fact that most of their agents have electronic prosthetics too. Case in point, Reaper is currently residing in the tank of what is essentially a glorified handvac that Widowmaker seemingly pulled out of thin air as an angry little black cloud, and Junkrat is slung over Roadhog’s shoulder like a rag doll, hanging limply while his prosthetics twitch.

Everyone is looking a little worse for wear, to put it lightly- even Mercy’s suit has been grounded by the emitter. Though in all fairness, this probably wouldn’t have gone as nearly as badly as it did if they had actually managed to keep it away from Junkrat.

Long story short, they hired on Junkrat to protect him in exchange for his services, and failed to realize that any sort of tech they had was going end up in his hands somehow, because Junkrat can’t keep his hands off anything. Originally, it was supposed to be more of a focused blast, with the goal of taking out one person at a time, but Junkrat decided it would be better as a massive area of effect instead. They somehow don’t notice him messing with it, and continue with the mission of raiding an abandoned Overwatch base that the current Overwatch was hoping to scavenge from. The following things happen:

One, everyone with electronic prosthetics starts having trouble, if trouble meant “everyone firing wildly into the air from sudden loss of motor control.” Roadhog takes advantage of the situation and hooks not only McCree, tearing a good chunk out of his arm and knocking him the fuck over, but Pharah as well, somehow managing to hook into one of the malfunctioning jets and pulling her straight to the ground seconds after downing McCree. She wasn’t doing too good up there to begin with, flight path erratic, but this didn’t exactly help.

Two, after about a minute or so of this, the prosthetics just short out completely, giving everyone afflicted varying levels of pain ranging from bad to agonizing, and this is where they find out that Reaper is affected by this, too, because his physical form rippled for a few ominous seconds before he dissipated into smoke completely. This isn’t before he manages to deck Morrison, though.

Three, the EMP emitter explodes, because Junkrat fucked with it so of course it does. Everyone’s a little bloodied from the debris but surprisingly, no one died.

Mercy stares Widowmaker down with a gentle smile and her hand close to her pistol, waiting for her answer. Widowmaker watches her warily, eyeing up their two rundown teams and thinking. Her vision’s still a little blurry from the flash the EMP put out before it exploded, and possibly from the migraine forming behind her eyes.

“D'accord,” she agrees finally, nodding. Reaper, in the handvac, bounces around his jar angrily like a swarm of wasps. Widow taps the glass impatiently. This does not get him to stop in any capacity. Mercy smiles.

“A temporary truce, then,” she confirms, and Widowmaker nods again. “We’ll be on our side,” she starts, gesturing vaguely over her shoulder, “And you’ll be on yours?” The sniper rolls her eyes a bit, but does nod a final time.

She gets to work, then, gently guiding Jack away and laying him on the ground a few feet away from them. McCree and Symmetra together can provide enough support to carry Pharah over as well, and Mercy proceeds to see if she can still put out an emergency signal for Winston to come get them. Glancing over, Widowmaker appears to be doing the same.

Luck appears to be on their side, and Mercy manages to get the transmitter to work, most likely thanks to Winston’s foresight on the matter. She helps detach the prosthetics from their owners so that Symmetra can look at them proper, and the Junkers approach them sheepishly shortly after.

“Hey, so… Don’t think we’re gonna get a ride home with Widow. Mind if we bum around with your lot?” Junkrat asks, looking at her upside down from Roadhog’s shoulders. Symmetra fixes them with a glare, looking up from her work on Pharah’s legs while her own arm lies to the side, detached and awaiting repairs. McCree just looks exhausted.

“May I ask why?” Mercy asks, somewhat strained.

“I uh, don’t think Talon’s gonna want us around anymore,” he explains, chuckling nervously. “We only joined for the protection anyway; you lot seem like you’re more fun.” Mercy hesitates in answering, knowing fully well that Symmetra is right behind her with a glare whose heat she can feel singing the back of her head.

“Oh, and I can help with the limbs!” he offers, gesturing with his one working hand towards the detached prosthetics. “I made me own, y'see, so I can speed that up a bit!”

Mercy hesitates another moment, but Jack waves them over weakly anyway, bidding them a gruff “No funny business,” and Roadhog ambles over, sitting Junkrat on the ground next to Jack. Symmetra looks very much like she’s about to vibrate out of her own body from rage.

“You need to stop picking up strays,” Mercy scolds, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Hey, now,” McCree chuckles. “I resemble that remark.”

“So does Angela,” Jack grumbles. Mercy sighs irritably. Junkrat reaches for McCree’s prosthetic and is immediately slapped away by Symmetra.

“No,” she states with a note of finality. Junkrat pouts, but gets to work on his own prosthetics instead.

It takes a couple hours for Winston and Tracer to come get them, and peering over to Widowmaker and the remaining Talon agents, it looks like their ride isn’t coming anytime soon. Widowmaker, with great shame, and probably some prompting from Reaper buzzing around in his tank, she comes over to them, heels clicking loudly on the pavement.

“Ya’ll need a lift?” McCree offers jovially, tickled pink at the irony of Talon’s top sniper needing to ask for a ride from their supposed enemies.

“The tracing device that Talon planted on me is no longer functional,” she says, with no small amount of resentment.

“It’s fried,” Reaper confirms, voice static. “I checked. They’re not going to come for us.” Mercy’s not really sure how he’s talking right now, but then again she’s not really sure how Reaper works in the first place.

“Anyway, we’re defecting,” Reaper continues matter-of-factly. Jack is up like a fucking jack-in-the-box.

“I don’t-” Mercy starts.

“Yes,” Jack interrupts. McCree just laughs, honest to god slapping his leg laughing. Mercy is going to strangle him in his sleep the first chance she gets.

“Are you bringing your friends with you?” Mercy asks, just so goddamn tired. Widow nods, reciprocating her exasperation. The remaining Talon agents pad over nervously, like stray cats.

Their transport finally lands a little ways away from them, Tracer greeting them as soon as the hatch opens.

“What’s all this, then?” she asks, smiling but eyebrow raised incredulously. Her hands are already on her pistols.

“New recruits,” Jack states simply. He’s somehow obtained the handvac and is cradling it. Tracer eyes it up and hums the theme to this movie that Reinhardt used to make them watch.

“I ain’t afraid of no ghost,” she says, voice sing-song and a shit-eating grin on her face. Reaper sounds like an actual hornet’s nest now, the tank shuddering violently in Jack’s hands.

Anyway, it’s an awkward ride home to say the least.


	6. Symmetra & Roadhog: A Night On the Town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> from tumblr @readasaur: D. VA, Roadhog, Lucio and Junkrat have a very wild night on the town.
> 
> Ok but I’m adding Symmetra too because reasons

The funny thing is, they’re not even intending it to be a “wild night out,” it just sort of happens.

Roadie had honestly just wanted to go have a quiet dinner without worrying about cooking, and though it hadn’t been his turn to cook anyway (It was Jack’s), he didn’t really want to deal with the Jack-and-Gabe Super Shitshow that happened in the kitchen every time it was either of their turns to cook. Apparently, whenever one of them has to be in one room for an extended period of time, the other has to come and heckle them the entire time. He gets it, they have a lot of shit to work through, but the mutual pining and violent sexual tension gets real old real quick, as does their combined fussing over the whole team.

So, amidst Team Grimdads’ dinner preparations- yelling across the base to ask people what they want, getting in each other’s face, arguing about what ingredients to use, and in general making a mess- Roadie volunteered to get groceries, after he grabbed dinner with Jamie. The dads give an approximation of a yes- both waving at him without looking away from each other or their argument- and so off they go.

Long story short, they end up running from the cops in a fucking soccer mom minivan.

See normally they’d just take Mercy’s car and be done with it. They couldn’t exactly take Roadie’s bike if they were buying groceries for just shy of two dozen people, and her SUV had more than enough room for just two people and their groceries, typically. However, things get a little complicated when it goes from two people to five people- namely, he, Jamie, Lucio, Hana, and Symmetra.

Lucio and Hana aren’t really a surprise; they’d bonded with Jamie remarkably well over their individual tech. Symmetra was, however. She hadn’t particularly bonded with anybody thus far, at least to his knowledge. There’s been some reaching out to her, sure, but it never really stuck, Symmetra about as standoffish as a cat, and just as skittish. It was hard to really tell what she was thinking a lot of the time, and she never really left the base unless it was for a mission.

But for some reason, when they were packing up to go, she’d just about marched right up to them, in her full mission regalia no less, and said:

“I will be joining you,” very determined. She won’t break eye contact with Lucio, seeming to have something to prove. No one replies immediately, and her confidence wavers. “I would- I would like to join you,” she amends, deflating a little.

“Alright,” Roadie allows. She looks relieved.

“You miiight want to switch to something more casual, though,” Jamie points out from his wheelchair, prosthetics set aside for the time being. “Tryin’ to stay under the radar here.” He’s actually somewhat calm with how he says it, at least as far as shades of Jamie go, especially given that he absolutely hates having to use the wheelchair. Being stuck in one place never sits well with him; even now he’s bouncing his remaining leg rapid-fire. Symmetra nods.

“I will go get changed, then,” she says, determination returning and setting off at a brisk pace.

She changes remarkably fast, like she’s convinced they’re going to ditch her- they haven’t even finished loading Jamie into the van when she returns- and they set off.

Dinner goes relatively alright, given the situation.

Lucio and Hana luckily aren’t recognized in their civilian clothes (Hana forgoes her cute pink battle stripes and puts her hair up in a bun, and Lucio takes out the decorative pieces he usually has at the end of his hair), and the junkers obviously have experience with keeping a low profile long enough to get by without being noticed. Symmetra stands out a little but it’s less that she’s recognized and more that she went above and beyond. She’s a little overdressed for this place, honestly; it’s just a little mom-and-pop operation. She’s dressed like she’s going to work at an accounting office.

They have a little trouble finding some vegetarian options for her- mom and pop place, again, so it’s a bit limited- but the staff doesn’t seem to mind her asking for a couple substitutions. Particularly when she leaves the biggest tip out of all of them.

She doesn’t talk much during, still a bit shy but not letting that stop her from being here in the first place. The only thing she asks during dinner is to call her “Satya.” That’s it. She listens in, sure, and seems to be content just to be included, but again, she doesn’t really talk much.

No, she doesn’t do much talking until they get to the grocery store, and they’re in line at the register. To be specific, she doesn’t start talking until she’s picking a fight with the person in the next aisle over for giving the cashier a hard time.

The thing is, this is a brandname store, big enough to be part of a chain, and Satya is yelling louder than anyone else there. This is possibly because watching her get angry is like watching a hurricane form; slow and breathtaking but ultimately terrifying, and stupefies everyone into a stunned silence.

She had started off slow, staring holes into the back of head of the man in question, partly disbelief and partly disgust, as he continues to rail into the cashier, who mostly just takes it, wordlessly ringing up his items, the “in-training” badge gleaming cheerily under the bright lights overhead. The longer it goes on, the more Satya looks like she’s about to start vibrating out of her own body out of sheer rage. Roadie is kind of glad that Jamie isn’t here at this point- waiting in line is the absolute worst for him, so Lucio and Hana volunteered to keep him company in the car instead. If Jamie were here, the impulsive, angry little fucker he is, things would have gotten a lot worse, a lot quicker.

The man is blaming the cashier for things that aren’t in any way their fault- why is this so expensive, this isn’t what it used to be, he should receive a discount, etc.- and apparently, Satya got to a point where she could not stand by and watch this happen anymore.

“Excuse me,” she starts, not quite loud enough to be heard by the chucklefuck in question. “Sir,” she continues, somewhat louder. Their own cashier, who had been resentfully but dutifully ignoring the man as they rang up their items, chances a peek at Satya, wary concern starting to bleed through the carefully sculpted indifference- the kind of concern that read “do I need to call security.”

“Excuse me,” she says again, garnering he attention of not only the people behind them, but also the people behind the man in question and the people in the next aisle down, but bafflingly, not the stubborn jackass she’s been trying to shame into stopping.

Their cashier is just about done ringing up their things when Satya stops bagging, walks over to him, her heels clacking sharply against the linoleum, and actually, physically puts herself directly in front of him.

“Sir. Excuse me,” she begins, using the same sort of eerie, transient calmness that belies clouds that have gone the off-color green that signal the coming of tornadoes.

Finally, to the despair and panic of the cashier, he turns his head, but before he can really say anything, Satya says, not yelling but her voice somehow carrying throughout the entire store anyway, “If you do not approve of the way that the cashier is taking care of your purchase, then alert their manager or the front desk. Do not presume that you have the authority to dole out punishment wherever you see fit simply because they cannot do anything to stop you.”

Thankfully, Roadie has already paid their cashier and loaded up their cart, because this is about the time that she realizes that everyone is staring at her, and the manager on shift has long since recognized Symmetra for who she is, and as such, has called security, who presumably have already contacted the police.

Leaving Vishkar had been pretty rocky for Satya, particularly because they didn’t actually allow her to leave, and have reported her as a rogue agent and criminal.

So, by the time Satya has stopped fixating her vindication on the chucklefuck in the next aisle over and realized they were about to be in some deep shit, Roadie has already tossed all their food in the cart. He proceeds to grab her and fucking book it to the front doors. The cart plus his considerable weight behind it makes an excellent battering ram, and they manage to bowl through the crowd pf people coming through the front door. Security, of course, attempts to stop them, but see the keyword here is “attempts” because Satya, from her spot hanging over Roadie’s shoulder, fabricates a moving barrier and sends it flying toward them. Said shield knocks them down relatively harmlessly, but definitely gives them enough time to ride the screeching cart across the parking lot to the van.

Lucio, sitting in the driver’s sit, looks a little surprised to see them recklessly careening towards them on the back of a rickety shopping cart.

“Everything go okay?” he asks knowing fully well what the answer is.

“Start the car,” Roadie says as he pulls the cart to a screeching halt once they’ve swerved to the back of the van. Satya hops down, finally free from his grasp, and darts into the van, slamming the door shut. Lucio does so.

Roadie doesn’t bother unloading the cart; just tosses the whole thing, bags and all, into the back.

“Um,” Lucio says, and Jamie grins crookedly at them. Hana’s eyes flick between Satya and Roadie disbelievingly.

“What happened?” she demands as Roadie climbs into the passenger seat.

“Drive,” he orders, and Lucio, taking note of the police cruisers beginning to pull up, does so, blasting out of the parking lot like a bat out of hell.

_“What did you do?!”_ Hana shrieks as the van roars down the highway. Satya’s a little too shaken and speechless to answer her, so Roadie does it for her.

“Picked a fight with some asshole an aisle over,” he explains over the engine and the sirens and the rattling cart barely held still by Satya and Hana. “They figured out who we were and called the cops.” Hana fixes her with an incredulous stare.

_“Why?”_ she asks, eyes bugging out of her head.

“Was giving the cashier a hard time,” he continues. Jamie bursts out laughing.

“Oh my god,” Hana yells. _“Oh my god, why!!”_

“No, you don’t understand,” Satya says, finally finding her voice. “He would not leave them be, and no one was coming to their defense. If I hadn’t, no one would have.”

“Satya, I love you, and I’m proud of you for sticking to your principles, but please please _please_ pick your battles better,” Lucio manages to grit out in a rush as he weaves in and out of traffic. Jamie is crying now, actually literally crying, from laughter.

“Really?” Satya asks, almost too quiet to be heard. They probably wouldn’t have if not for the sirens finally fading as Lucio widens the distance between them.

“Yeah!” Jamie manages to get out between giggles. “We should take you out with us more often!”

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to send me a prompt either through the comments or through my writing tumblr, @poisonousfey


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